


Only Fools Rush In

by ladylapislazuli



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, falling in love over their one shared braincell, just guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylapislazuli/pseuds/ladylapislazuli
Summary: Falling in love with Dimitri really isn’t on Sylvain’s “to-do” list.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, background Felix/Annette - Relationship
Comments: 120
Kudos: 477





	1. Chapter 1

Ingrid and Felix can deny it all they like, but at the end of the day, the whole thing is entirely their fault.

It’s been a good spring – plentiful, productive, and the land is healing at last after so many years of war. Individually, Sylvain, Ingrid and Felix all visit Fhirdiad often, on various points of business. They see Dimitri, and occasionally he visits them, and they go about rebuilding the nation together.

This visit is one of the rare, blessed times when their schedules all align, and they are all in Fhirdiad at once.

“We should have an evening together, just the four of us,” Ingrid says, her face glowing. “In honour of the good old days. It’s been so long!”

“Tch,” is Felix’s response. Followed, after a nudge in the side from Sylvain, with, “I guess.”

He can play at reluctance all he likes. He suggested something similar to Sylvain not long ago himself, albeit in a far more roundabout and prickly fashion.

“I’m in,” Sylvain says.

All three of them turn to look at Dimitri. Who, true to form, hums and haws about it.

“I am delighted to see you all, truly. But there is still so much to do, and I wonder if…” He drones on. About duty and work and just generally being a wet blanket.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s one night,” Sylvain coaxes. Ignores all of Dimitri’s complaints and concerns until, with a sigh, Dimitri concedes.

Ingrid and Sylvain both cheer. Felix rolls his eyes, but a smile tugs at his lips.

The date is set. The location is decided. Then Ingrid and Felix, both at short notice and for entirely separate reasons, pull out. Ingrid, as a knight of the kingdom, is called away on a mission. Felix… Felix has no excuse. He _claims_ something important has come up in Fraldarius territory, but Sylvain is pretty sure he’s off canoodling with Annette.

All things considered, it’s probably more Felix’s fault than Ingrid’s. Still. The main thing is, Sylvain isn’t to blame.

“Should we reschedule?” Dimitri asks when Sylvain goes up to his office to fetch him. He has his usual furrow between his brows, his usual hesitance about anything resembling fun.

“No reason we can’t have a bit of fun, just the two of us,” Sylvain says.

Except Dimitri’s uptight temperament, unfortunately, which is why Sylvain really needs to think things through more. The first part of the evening is, in a word, awkward.

It’s been a long time since they’ve been alone together. A very long time, as it turns out. Only once they get to the bar and sit down does Sylvain realise he has genuinely no idea what Dimitri is up to these days, beyond his kingly duties.

He and Dimitri have always been friends, ever since they were children, but never in a close way. Dimitri and Felix were obsessed with each other until they had their falling out. Then, during their school years, Dimitri closed off completely, and he spent more time reprimanding Sylvain than just talking to him. Then the war happened, and everything that went along with it, and now Dimitri is king and busier than ever. All things considered, he and Sylvain don’t spend much quality time together.

Except for this evening. And as it turns out, Sylvain isn’t entirely sure what to do with him. Sylvain is good with people, rarely awkward in even the worst of company, but Dimitri is… Dimitri is something else.

“I understand Gautier territory is in good standing with regard to internal trade, but I wondered if you had a plan to trade goods internationally,” Dimitri is saying, and has been saying for the last half hour.

He has been talking nothing but work ever since they arrived here. Not even the interesting parts of his work, like courtly intrigues and seductions and the various fights and disagreements that are always going on in some form or other. No, Dimitri talks exclusively about trade, and taxation, and minor points of law.

Sylvain looks over Dimitri’s shoulder, to where the gorgeous young waiter is serving drinks at a nearby table, his waistcoat nipping in alluringly at his waist. Looks over towards the bar, where Madam Rosalie is taking orders, smiling her impish smile. She’s a mature woman, and an absolute knock-out, and she knows how to play the game. Flirts with her patrons without making any promises, smiling that charming dimpled smile all the while.

The point is, the night is young. Sylvain could be having a lot more fun than he is right now. But he’s already _so_ _tired_.

“Your Majesty, _please_ ,” he says. “For one night. No work talk.”

For a moment, Dimitri looks surprised. Then he looks down at the table, where his drink sits largely untouched. And they may not be close, but Sylvain isn’t stupid – he knows what hurt looks like on Dimitri’s face when he sees it.

Sylvain rallies. Pulls on his best and most charming smile, and nudges Dimitri’s legs under the table. Tries, however fruitlessly, to get Dimitri to _relax_. “I’m more interested in hearing about _you_. I heard a rumour, you know, that a lady in the court is head over heels in love with you.”

Sylvain did not think it possible for Dimitri, who is sitting in a low-lit, overheated bar in full regalia, to look even more uncomfortable.

“Idle gossip. I have nothing interesting to tell, I am afraid.” Dimitri’s cheeks, though, flush red.

“Come on.” Sylvain leans in, unable to keep the grin off his face. Dimitri is easy to tease. “I heard it was _scandalous_.”

“Where do you get these stories of yours?” Dimitri avoids Sylvain’s gaze as he takes a drink.

“I hope you didn’t try my pick-up lines again.”

Dimitri rumbles a laugh. It’s different than the one Sylvain remembers. Rustier. “No. I learned my lesson the last time, I assure you.”

Conversation lulls. Dimitri shifts in his seat, probably trying to get comfortable. No easy task in the amount of layers he’s wearing. He traces the edge of his glass with his gloved hand, his hair falling in front of his face. Raises the glass to take another mouthful.

“I heard you walked into your chambers and found her there stark naked,” Sylvain says, just to get a rise – it’s a complete fabrication.

It works. Dimitri jerks, spitting out some of his drink in his shock and horror. He goes even redder, and Sylvain laughs as he wipes at his mouth, mortified. Undignified, for once. Human.

“Do not tease me, Sylvain.” Dimitri wipes down the table with a napkin, catching the last remains of his spilled drink. Uptight and fastidious as ever, it seems.

“I’ll stop teasing if you stop droning on about work,” Sylvain says. Dimitri looks offended, but Sylvain nudges his leg again. “Come on, how long have we known each other? I want to talk to _you_. To Dimitri, not the king.”

And Dimitri… Dimitri looks like he is unsure what to do with that. Opens his mouth, closes it again. Scratches at his nose, both awkward and decidedly flustered. His eye darts away from Sylvain, as though he is shy.

 _Cute_ , Sylvain thinks, though it’s not a word that usually applies to Dimitri. Dimitri is 6’2”, scarred to high heaven, and built like a brick wall.

“Really, Sylvain, there is not much to tell,” Dimitri says. “I am… well, I am very dull, I suppose.”

Silence. Dimitri is avoiding his gaze again. He doesn’t like to make conversation easy, does he?

“Tell me about your hobbies, then. Even kings have to take a break every now and then.”

Dimitri shifts in his seat. Shrugs, rather than giving a real answer, which could mean one of two things. Either Dimitri spends every waking moment working, which wouldn’t be a surprise, or he’s too embarrassed to share his hobbies. To share something personal, even with one of his oldest friends. Either option is equally possible – Dimitri is, after all, Dimitri. Even when they were children he used to get embarrassed if Sylvain so much as asked him what book he was reading.

Sylvain downs the last of his drink. Braces himself, because Dimitri is such a sad lump of a man when he isn’t being their king, and _someone_ has to do something about it. For whatever reason, the task has fallen to Sylvain.

“Come on,” he says grimly, and gets to his feet.

Hours later, Dimitri has lost his cloak and gloves, as well as his sense of decorum. He is thoroughly intoxicated and howling with laughter as Sylvain strips down to his smallclothes and jumps into the lake.

It’s too cold to swim, really, despite summer’s fast approach. The cold sobers Sylvain up a little, but not enough to stop him. He’s thoroughly buzzed after downing his share of the bottle of spirits on the riverbank. He’s having _fun_.

“Swim with me!” he yells at Dimitri. Despite his intoxication, Dimitri is hovering on the shore, twisting his hands.

“I – I shouldn’t. I am – I am fully dressed, and. I am the _king_ ,” Dimitri says, swaying on his feet.

“Come on, I dare you!”

That’s all it takes. Dimitri strips off his upper layers – leaving his pants on, the prude - and throws himself gracelessly into the water, sending a tidal wave in Sylvain’s direction. It smacks Sylvain right in the face and he splutters as he inhales water. Dimitri resurfaces, shaking his hair like a dog, a broad smile across his face.

It’s a beautiful smile. A rare thing indeed. Dimitri’s front teeth are faintly crooked, and Sylvain remembers how embarrassed Dimitri used to be about it. Dimitri went through a phase where he would cover his mouth every time he smiled or laughed in order to hide the imperfection.

He has nothing to hide. Imperfect it may be, but it’s still beautiful. Sylvain wants to tell him so, because Dimitri should smile more often.

“Ayyyyy,” is what comes out.

Dimitri splashes him, and Sylvain splashes back. One thing leads to another and before long they’re chasing each other about, trying to shove each other’s head underwater. Not getting very far, because both of them keep laughing too much, and Dimitri is slippery as an eel in the water.

Somewhere along the way, Dimitri loses his eye patch, and his scarred, empty eye socket is on full display. Sylvain has never seen it before. Dimitri covers it up, both with his eye patch and with his long hair hanging in front of his face, but he doesn’t need to. There’s nothing wrong with it, especially not when Dimitri’s still smiling, bare-chested and bathed in the light of the moon. Attractive.

Huh. Attractive… It’s something of a revelation. Dimitri - _King_ Dimitri, the saviour of Fódlan, Sylvain’s prudish childhood friend and general stick-in-the-mud, is actually quite attractive. Not Sylvain’s type, but he can appreciate a good-looking man when he sees one.

Dimitri is definitely that. Wet and half-naked and smiling, Dimitri looks _good_.

He really should smile more, Sylvain thinks. He’s a great guy when he’s not being so uptight. Maybe Sylvain should do something about that.

\- - -

“I can’t believe you two,” Ingrid says.

It’s three days later. She returns from her mission, and within the space of an hour she’s dragging Sylvain up to Dimitri’s office so she can scold them together. How she even found out about their little adventure so fast is anyone’s guess – someone definitely ratted them out.

“Swimming, _drunk_ , in the lake. The water’s cold – what if one of you had seized up? You could have drowned, and neither of you would have had the presence of mind to do anything about it. Or worse yet, what if someone had attacked you? You wouldn’t have been able to defend yourselves.”

Dimitri and Sylvain share a look, then look back to the floor.

“Dedue’s already lectured us. You don’t have to,” Sylvain says, which only makes Ingrid puff up like a bullfrog.

“One night. We leave you alone for _one night_. Him I can understand” - Ingrid jerks a thumb at Sylvain, which, ouch - “but _you_ , your Majesty? Margrave Gautier and the _King of Fódlan_. _Drunk_. In a _lake_.”

Sylvain agrees it was irresponsible, and he probably wouldn’t have done it sober, but he’s not telling Ingrid that. It was harmless. A bit of stupid fun in between their boring responsibilities.

“At least his Majesty kept his pants on,” Sylvain says, and a muscle in Ingrid’s jaw spasms.

Dimitri, though… Dimitri covers his mouth all of a sudden. The motion attracts Sylvain’s attention, and for a moment he doesn’t understand why. Then it hits him. Dimitri is covering a _smile_.

“ _You_ ,” Ingrid says, jabbing her finger aggressively towards Sylvain’s chest. “You are _unbelievable_. Every time I think you’re getting your life together you pull something stupid. And now you’ve dragged the _king_ into your nonsense!”

Sylvain should really back down. Should nod and lower his head and accept her reprimands, because Dimitri is too important to take even the smallest of risks with. He understands why she’s angry, he does.

But. _But_. Dimitri is hiding a smile. Is finding this _funny_. And Sylvain can’t help himself.

“Come on, Ingrid,” he says. “I know you’re really angry because you’re jealous. If you want me to strip for you, you only need to ask.”

It’s a joke. Pitched clearly as a joke, far too forward, and Sylvain likes to think he’s grown subtler in his flirting as he’s aged. He’s only teasing.

Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. For a moment, Ingrid is deathly quiet. Practically serene, the calm before the storm. Then her entire face screws up in rage.

Ten minutes later, she storms out of Dimitri’s office and slams the door behind her. Sylvain isn’t a delicate man, but he feels vaguely faint. Sinks into a chair and blinks into space, his ears still ringing.

“Oh dear,” Dimitri says. Eloquent in his commentary as ever.

“Ah. She’ll get over it.” Sylvain tries for a smile, but it feels more like a grimace.

Dimitri stands. Shoots a look at the door, furtive, then goes to a cabinet in the corner of the room. Opens it and bends over to pull something from the very back of it. It’s whiskey.

“I thought you swore off liquor,” Sylvain says. Impressed, in spite of himself. Dimitri is holding a very good vintage indeed, made all the better with the knowledge it’s a secret stash. “I thought Dedue made you swear off liquor.”

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.” Dimitri shoots Sylvain a smile. Small, just a quirk of his lips. Cheeky in a way Sylvain wasn’t sure Dimitri remembered how to be.

Dimitri procures two glasses and pours a generous amount. Hands Sylvain his then sits back down on the other side of his desk. He raises his glass, and Sylvain clinks it with his own.

It’s the good stuff. Really good stuff. Their little secret.

“Ingrid’s right about one thing,” Sylvain says. “I really am a terrible influence on you.”

Dimitri shakes his head. Leans forward, his single eye shockingly blue and so very, very earnest. Sylvain was just joking, but Dimitri looks at him with utmost seriousness.

“You aren’t. I had fun, the other night. More fun than… well. More fun than I’ve had in a very long time.”

His voice is low, almost intimate. For a moment Sylvain is trapped by the intensity of Dimitri’s gaze, pulled into the swirling vortex that lurks beneath Dimitri’s composed exterior. Even over the simplest of things, Dimitri is breathlessly intense.

Unexpectedly, Sylvain feels a coil of heat in his belly. A flash of… well, of attraction. Then Dimitri leans back, fiddling awkwardly with his glass, and the moment passes.

Huh. It wasn’t just the alcohol talking the other night. Sylvain sweeps a look over him, at the strong jaw and broad shoulders and the bashfulness so at odds with his intensity only moments ago. He’s not Sylvain’s type, which is probably why he’s never noticed before. But he gets it. Dimitri’s really grown into himself.

He grins at Dimitri. Leans back in his chair. “I’ll have to take you out more often.”

“I do not think Dedue would cope well with fishing us out of another lake,” Dimitri muses.

“He’ll live.”

Dimitri smiles at him. An actual smile with teeth, this time, no hand to cover it. And he may not be Sylvain’s type, but he _is_ Sylvain’s friend. They haven’t been close for a long time, but… well, who else is going to stop him from taking life so seriously all the time? When Dimitri relaxes, he’s decent company.

A bit of dumb fun will do Dimitri the world of good.

\- - -

“Hey, your Majesty, guess what I’ve got,” Sylvain says.

Dimitri looks up from his paperwork. Frowns when he spies Sylvain leaning in his doorway.

“What are you doing here? I thought you and Felix were in a meeting.”

“Eh, he can handle it.” Felix will be furious later, but Sylvain is in a flippant sort of mood. His flakiness shouldn’t come as a surprise, anyway. To this day, he makes sure to keep up his reputation as a good-for-nothing. That way, people are always pleasantly surprised when he shows up.

He shuts the door behind him. Whips his bag of sweets from behind his back and waves it enticingly. Dimitri just looks confused.

“What are you doing?”

“What are _we_ doing,” Sylvain corrects. “ _We_ are going to see who can fit the most marshmallows in their mouth at once.”

Dimitri’s lips part. He stares at Sylvain. Looks down at his paperwork. Looks back up at Sylvain, as if unable to reconcile the two. “You… you want me to what?”

“It’s not difficult. Just a friendly challenge.” Sylvain saw some children doing it in the town square. It looked ridiculous. He bought a bag of marshmallows immediately.

“I am working, Sylvain, I do not have time for this foolishness. Nor, I imagine, do you.”

He’s not wrong. But Sylvain really can’t stand Lord Bryn, and he knows Felix will handle things better without Sylvain there to set him off. He might as well have a laugh with Dimitri instead.

Dimitri, though, doesn’t look persuaded. He’s in full king mode. Serious, dutiful, impenetrable. So far away from the rest of them that he doesn’t seem quite real, sometimes.

“It’s just a bit of fun,” Sylvain says. Then, mimicking the children in the square, “Unless you’re too chicken.”

Dimitri just frowns at him. He looks like he’s about to reprimand Sylvain – he gets an all-too-familiar look about him like he’s swallowed a lemon – but he pauses. His eye traces Sylvain’s face. “Is… is everything all right, Sylvain?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well,” Dimitri hesitates. Sets down his quill. “Are you having… forgive me if I am intruding, but are you having lady troubles again? It is just – well, Ingrid mentioned you were seeing someone, but she also indicated it wasn’t going so well, so…” Dimitri trails off, so awkward it looks like it might be physically painful.

“ _Lady troubles_ doesn’t really mean what you think it means,” Sylvain says, though it flies over Dimitri’s head. “Are you in or not?”

Dimitri considers him. Quirks his brow. “A chicken, you say? Hand me that bag.”

Sylvain makes it to twenty-two marshmallows. Twenty-two, and when he goes for twenty-three he finds he physically can’t fit any more. He taps the table, waving at his mouth, forced to concede.

Dimitri’s eye gleams. He stuffs another marshmallow into his mouth, then _another_. Makes it to twenty-five, his cheeks bulging outwards and powdered sugar all over his face, when suddenly he chokes. Coughs around a mouth full to the brim with marshmallows and spits them out, right into his gloved hand. A big sticky mess all covered in his own saliva.

 _Gross_ , Sylvain thinks, and hastily spits out his own before he chokes on his laughter. Pointing at Dimitri and laughing as Dimitri coughs and smacks at his chest. Dimitri is laughing, and coughing, and still kind of choking, and this stupid game is the funniest thing Sylvain’s seen in a long time.

Dimitri gulps down some water, finally getting his breathing back under control. He throws the marshmallow-mush into the bin and wipes off his gloves and face, though he misses some sugar on his cheek. He looks at the bag, at the marshmallows left over, then back up at Sylvain.

Sylvain thinks the fun is over. Dimitri will thank him – Dimitri always thanks people, even when it’s strange to do so – and send Sylvain on his way again. Dimitri doesn’t.

“I bet I can throw more into the tower window than you can,” Dimitri says.

Sylvain blinks, surprised. The rare times when Dimitri isn’t uptight are the times when he’s melancholy, gazing broodily into the distance. And yet Dimitri, without a hint of shame or compunction, just suggested…

Sylvain can feel the grin spreading across his face. “You’re on.”

They spend the better part of an hour at Dimitri’s window, giggling like naughty schoolboys as they throw marshmallows at the half-open window across from Dimitri’s office, whooping whenever get one inside. When they run out of marshmallows they resort to paper, balling it up and throwing it with all their might.

It’s not easy. The angle makes it difficult, as does the wind. It’s also a deeply pointless exercise and far more entertaining than it should be.

“Three!” Dimitri crows when he manages to toss a paper ball at just the right angle.

“You’ll have to do better than that. I’m on five,” Sylvain retorts. He hasn’t stopped grinning.

“We need something heavier,” Dimitri says. He scans his office, and his eye lands on a vase sitting in the corner. There are decorative pebbles sitting at the bottom.

What happens next is entirely predictable, yet neither of them see it coming. Sylvain tosses a few pebbles, missing each time, groaning when the last throw bounces _so close_ to the opening of the window. Then Dimitri picks up a pebble. Takes aim, and _pelts it_. In his hands, even a pebble can break glass.

The window shatters. _Shatters_. The sound of it is deafening, and Sylvain is frozen in place as he stares at the window frame.

“Uh,” he says eloquently. Looks over at Dimitri, who’s wearing a stunned look, eternally surprised by his own brute strength.

“Oh… oh dear,” Dimitri says faintly.

But then their eyes meet. And suddenly they’re both _howling_ with laughter. Slapping each other on the back, pointing at the window, utterly incapable of speaking because they’re laughing so hard. Laughing as though a broken window is the funniest thing in the whole world. A king and a lord of the realm, cackling like rowdy children over the mess they’ve made.

It’s ridiculous. It’s stupid. It’s the most fun Sylvain’s had in _years_. He hasn’t thought about his _lady troubles_ the whole time he’s been with Dimitri. Not about Maria, or any of the things she said when she dumped him.

Eventually they calm down. Dimitri wipes tears of laughter from his eye, and Sylvain has never seen him smile this much, not in all these years. He always knew Dimitri had a terrible sense of humour. As it turns out, he has the _worst_ sense of humour, and Sylvain isn’t much better.

Dimitri is very warm. His muscular thigh is pressed up against Sylvain’s, and he smells good. He wears cologne now. Something masculine, but subtle. This is the first time Sylvain’s been close enough to smell it.

He still has sugar on his face. Cute.

“Hey, you’ve got -” Sylvain says, gesturing towards Dimitri’s face. Dimitri rubs at it again, missing entirely, so Sylvain shrugs and wipes it off for him.

Dimitri looks… slightly stunned, at that. His eye goes wide and he stares at Sylvain, his whole posture suddenly rigid.

Oh. Sylvain probably should have asked before touching the king’s face. Dimitri gets awkward about all sorts of things.

Sylvain doesn’t make a thing of it, though. He looks back to the broken window.

“If anyone asks,” he says. “It wasn’t us.”

\- - -

Dimitri isn’t good at keeping secrets. Under questioning he confesses to Dedue, who tells Felix, who tells Ingrid, who hauls Sylvain down by the ear to lecture him some more.

A lot of words get bandied about. All the usual – _good-for-nothing_ and _irresponsible_ being popular favourites, though _childish_ is the mainstay of Ingrid’s lecture this time around.

“Sylvain, _really_ ,” she keeps repeating.

She’s as beautiful as ever, even when she’s angry. Even mid-lecture, Sylvain takes a moment to admire the curve of her neck. She’s like a swan. Beautiful, even delicate, to look at, but when riled she’s fierce beyond all compare.

Ingrid notices him looking, and her glare sharpens.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” she demands.

“Of course I do,” he says now it looks like she’s run out of steam. “But there’s a big difference between things that are important, and things that aren’t. I’ll always back you up in battle, you know that. I’d put my life on the line. But some things just aren’t worth getting riled up about. You need to learn the difference between the two, both you and His Majesty.”

Ingrid stares at him. Seems to consider this. “Just… _behave_ yourself, all right?”

“If it’s you asking? Anything,” he says, and she rolls her eyes and smacks him in the arm as she goes.

Sylvain and Dimitri don’t seek each other out that often. But Sylvain makes a point of getting him out and about every now and then. He has a unique role to play: Dedue manages Dimitri’s physical safety, Felix manages his opinions (generally via the medium of argument), and Sylvain manages Dimitri’s ability to let his hair down.

So every so often, when Sylvain is bored and Dimitri isn’t too busy, Sylvain will drag him out somewhere. Just the two of them. It’s awkward for a while - all things considered, they’re still not that close. Alcohol lubricates their conversations, but Dimitri seems to fall back onto the subject of work whenever he gets anxious. Which, as it turns out, is quite a lot.

Sylvain perseveres. Takes him drinking, and gambling (only once – Dimitri is terrible at it and too worried about _morality_ for Sylvain to have fun either), and they play games. Dimitri hums and haws and hesitates every time, but commits with an unnecessary amount of dedication as soon as things get a bit competitive.

On tamer nights they while away the hours in Dimitri’s office. Tonight Sylvain trounces Dimitri at chess, manages to scrape another victory in backgammon, but Dimitri makes a surprise comeback when the evening devolves into strip poker. Sylvain isn’t sure if it’s Dimitri’s prudish determination to remain clothed or his competitive streak come out full force, but Dimitri plays _hard_.

“Well, your Majesty, you’ve got me,” Sylvain says, left only in his smallclothes. “What are you gonna do with me?”

Dimitri is avoiding looking at him, which is hilarious. He can’t possibly abandon his delicate sensibilities, even while forcing Sylvain to strip down to his underwear. His cheeks are flushed, his gaze carefully averted.

“I am sure I will think of something.” It’s a mark of Dimitri’s naivety that he doesn’t seem to realise that remark is flirtatious. He looks serious, like he’s genuinely weighing his options. Like this game requires any consideration at all.

He’s too earnest, as always.

“My, your Majesty,” Sylvain says, stretching out provocatively. Flexing, just a bit. “Be gentle with me.”

Not even Dimitri is clueless enough to misinterpret _that_. He turns positively scarlet. Hunches his shoulders.

“You must be running out of women if you’re starting on me, Sylvain,” he mutters. Unable to look Sylvain in the eye as he gathers up the cards.

Sylvain just laughs.

He’s got Dimitri out of some of his layers, at least. Down to his undershirt, but no further. Scars peek through the laces around Dimitri’s collarbones. Thick, uneven - they would have hurt. They’re kind of sexy, in a rugged sort of way. Not Sylvain’s usual thing, but he can appreciate them in the abstract.

Dimitri sees him looking. Tugs at his shirt, pulling it higher, like an old woman clutching her pearls. As though he’s forgotten Sylvain has already seen him in all his shirtless glory. And Dimitri has been relaxed this evening, despite his prudish embarrassment at seeing exposed skin, but now he tenses back up again. Withdraws.

He’s a difficult man. A fearsome fighter, more dangerous than anyone Sylvain knows, but more fragile, too.

“You’re in good shape,” Sylvain tells him. “Felix been working you hard?”

Dimitri looks up at him through the veil of his hair. Wary, as though he thinks Sylvain is mocking him. Promptly remembers that Sylvain isn’t wearing much, and the way his eye bugs out of his head makes it hard for Sylvain not to laugh.

“I – yes. We train often,” Dimitri says, averting his gaze. “Forgive me, but it is getting late. Perhaps we should call it a night.”

Sylvain looks at the clock. It’s not _that_ late, but Dimitri is looking… prickly. Defensive, closed-off. He’s fun when he’s in a good mood, good company when he relaxes, but when he gets like this…

Well. Sylvain’s fond of Dimitri, but getting through that shell of his is more trouble than a bit of fun’s worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm @ladylapisxx on twitter, come say hi! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for Sylvain's problematic behaviour towards and thoughts about women. It's part of his canon Issues, but flagging here just in case.

Sylvain only takes Dimitri out to meet women once. It’s an impulse decision. Dimitri is buried in a pile of paperwork, Sylvain is on his way out, and he thinks – why not take Dimitri too? Dimitri’s a good time when he loosens up, and there’ll be alcohol aplenty to settle his nerves. Dimitri’s a grown man, and a king, and he spends his whole life dealing with people. He can’t be as bad at talking to girls as he was when he was seventeen.

He isn’t. He’s _worse_.

The night starts well enough. Dimitri and Sylvain walk down to the pub together after Sylvain persuades a reluctant Dedue that no, he won’t lead his Majesty into the lake again, and no, Dimitri doesn’t need a chaperone to make sure of it. Sylvain and Dimitri escape the palace and go striding down the hill with a spring in their steps.

Dimitri is excited to be out of his office. He’s in fine form, chattier than Sylvain’s seen him since they were children. It’s a surprise, since he got so strange after their game of strip poker, but then Dimitri’s always unpredictable. Tonight he’s cheerful, good-humoured, lively. He tells Sylvain an actual, real-life _joke_ , and Sylvain would think he’d been office-drinking if Dimitri weren’t so uptight.

Like this, Dimitri’s charming. Not the way Sylvain is, but his sheer earnestness and enthusiasm somehow achieve the same effect. He’s helplessly endearing, because he’s such a goof it’s hard _not_ to feel fond of him. And Sylvain is genuinely, ridiculously fond of him. Feels it in a sudden rush when he looks over at Dimitri’s crooked-toothed smile and shining blue eye.

That’s the memory Sylvain clings to when the night goes pear-shaped. The knowledge that Dimitri _can_ be charming. Because as soon as they step inside the pub Dimitri clams up like a sweaty teenaged boy again.

“Ladies! Don’t you all look beautiful this evening,” Sylvain greets, kissing their hands, one by one. “Sabrine, Estelle, Nevae, Romina…”

He lingers over Romina’s hand. She’s the one he’s really here to see. She’s gorgeous, exactly his type, and when he met them all yesterday she’s the one who played the game. Batted her lashes, and teased, and smiled that enticing smile.

Tonight she’s playing a different game, apparently. She barely registers him. Her eyes fix on Dimitri and Sylvain might as well not be in the room.

“Your _Majesty_ ,” she says, covering her mouth as she gasps an airy gasp. High and feminine, not to mention fake. “It is… _such_ a pleasure.”

She steps around Sylvain to offer her hand out to Dimitri, who stares at it like a frightened fawn. Looks at Sylvain, as if asking for directions on how to say hello.

“Uh… good - good evening, madam,” Dimitri forces out. Takes her hand, squeezes it, lets it go.

That’s when Sylvain knows it’s going to be a disaster. That exact moment. But by now it’s too late to stop it.

“Why don’t we sit down?” he says, resigned.

The next twenty minutes feel like an eternity. Their drinks come, and Romina flirts loudly, and Dimitri stammers out boring, formal, stuffy replies which are about as charming as a dead rat. Romina ignores Sylvain entirely. The other ladies are nice enough, and Sabrine in particular tries to strike up conversation with him, but Sylvain just…

He doesn’t know why he’s in a bad mood, all of a sudden. Romina gave him the flick, sure, but it’s not like they actually know each other. She’s from a small house, and he knows all too well how the world works for people who don’t have much money or prestige. It’s not like he’s drawn to anything but her looks, anyway.

Still, it stings a little. Not because Sylvain actually cares, but because Dimitri is catastrophically, comedically, irreparably _hopeless_ with women.

“The roads around here are acceptable, but we are currently reviewing our approach to infrastructure,” Dimitri is saying in response to a very suggestive inquiry about _adventure_. Which - how? How did he get there? _How?_

Romina tries to take it in her stride, but Sylvain can see the strain in her smile. _Hah_ , he thinks.

On the other side of the table, Sabrine is trying to talk with Sylvain. “Do – do you come to this pub often?”

Sylvain looks at her. She’s sweet, a little shy. She, unlike Romina, has her attention focused on him. She’s giving him the signals, and Sylvain isn’t usually one to pass up on opportunity but…

He takes another mouthful of his drink. Says something bland in reply, uncharacteristically unsettled. He usually has fun when he’s out. Usually has fun with Dimitri. Put the two together and he’s having no fun at all.

Romina’s hand wanders to Dimitri’s knee, and Dimitri gives Sylvain a look of desperate, pleading panic. Part of Sylvain is tempted to leave him there. Trial by fire, and all that.

Still. Sylvain got him into this, and he’s done here anyway. He chugs the rest of his glass, sets it down, and fixes his gaze on Romina.

Twenty seconds later Romina throws her beer in Sylvain's face. Snarls, " _Pig_ ," and storms off, her friends rushing to follow.

Sylvain picks up a napkin. Dabs at his collar, where the beer is steadily soaking in. He’s pretty sure his shirt is ruined.

Dimitri, of course, is stammering. “Oh, Sylvain, I - that was a _terrible_ thing for you to say, I cannot believe - but I am being ungrateful, I know you were trying to help – but Sylvain, _really_ -”

“Could you pass me that napkin?” Sylvain interrupts, pointing to Dimitri’s side of the table.

Dimitri hurries to do so. Watches, looking miserable, as Sylvain wipes off his face. He cleans his hands, too. His shirt is drenched, but there’s nothing more he can do about it.

“I… I am sorry, Sylvain. I have ruined your evening,” Dimitri says. Managing to look both mournful and reproachful at the same time, though the fact Sylvain’s a cad really shouldn’t surprise him by now.

“Never mind,” Sylvain says. He kind of means it. It’s not entirely Dimitri’s fault – Sylvain somehow forgot Dimitri is… well, Dimitri. Taking Dimitri out to meet women has always ended in some disaster or another, through a combination of Dimitri’s impressive status and his decidedly unimpressive conversational skills.

It’s not a mistake Sylvain intends to make again, that much is certain.

“Let me make it up to you,” Dimitri says. Looks at Sylvain with that sad, earnest eye of his, and Sylvain figures he might as well. Not like he’s got anything else to do, now. Even if he were suddenly into Sabrine, he doubts she’d take him now.

They pay up and head out. Dimitri keeps shooting Sylvain looks as they walk, twisting his hands like a worried old woman. He also doesn’t seem to know where he’s going.

“What’s the plan?” Sylvain prompts. The night’s cold when your shirt’s drenched, as it turns out.

“Uh…” Dimitri trails off. Keeps walking, clearly racking his brains. Fruitlessly. He bows his head. “I really am sorry, Sylvain.”

He sounds so sad about it. Sad enough that Sylvain rallies. Dimitri’s a useless lump, but he’s not a bad guy. Sylvain pastes a smile on his face, reaching out and gripping him by the shoulder.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s do something fun.”

They end up at the stables. Stumbling around in the dark as they try to find tack, and Sylvain’s mood improves drastically when he hears Dimitri cursing under his breath.

“ _Drat_ ,” Dimitri says, but with all the energy of a much nastier word, and Sylvain snorts a laugh. Dimitri’s got a history of violence and bloodshed, but he _still can’t swear_.

“Language, Majesty,” he drawls. Sylvain’s grinning now. Having fun again, even though they’re not actually getting much done. Neither of them thought to bring a torch.

“It is just – where did I leave that wretched – I had it only a moment ago.”

“If you’re looking for your horse, try the stall.”

A huff. “Very funny, Sylvain.”

“Who goes there?” a voice barks out. A door opens, the light of a lantern peeking through.

And Dimitri and Sylvain, without a moment’s conversation, or hesitation, or even thought, drop what they’re holding and _run_.

Later, Sylvain won’t be able to explain why they ran, because Dimitri is the _king_ , for Goddess’ sake. Dimitri can do whatever he likes, anywhere in the palace, at whatever time of day he chooses to do it.

But it’s some long-forgotten instinct. Some remnant from their childhood games. They bolt out of the stables, sprinting across the yards towards freedom.

“Hey!” the guard yells behind them.

They launch themselves over a wooden fence. Sprint into the dark, and when they come to a high brick wall instinct kicks in once more. Sylvain drops to his knee so he can boost Dimitri upwards, then Dimitri reaches down and pulls him up too. Not for the first time Sylvain is amazed by his strength – Sylvain isn’t a small man, but Dimitri pulls him up with barely a grunt.

They throw themselves over to the other side. Keep running until they make it to the cover of the orchard. Bend over, panting.

There’s a beat. They look at each other.

“Well, that was stupid,” Sylvain says.

And all of a sudden they’re howling with laughter. Clinging to each other, holding each other up. They’re sweaty and panting and Sylvain still stinks of beer, but this is the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever done and he can’t _breathe_ he’s laughing so hard. Dimitri is slapping him on the back, and Sylvain is pointing at him and trying to say something but he _can’t_ , and Sylvain’s sides ache from laughing so hard.

“What were we _thinking_?” Dimitri manages to get out once the laughter eases. It’s more of a wheeze, but Sylvain gets the gist anyway.

“We weren’t,” is the obvious reply. “But hey, we make a great team.”

Dimitri snorts again. Groans, rubbing at his face, which must be sore from smiling so much. “We are going to be in so much trouble in the morning.”

“Only if they find out it was us.”

“It’s _always_ us,” Dimitri says. “Do you recall - we used to get into terrible trouble, then come hide out in here.”

He looks around the orchard. Bathed in the light of the moon.

“I remember,” Sylvain says. “You were an annoying little scamp.”

Dimitri huffs. “And you always said you were too busy to play with _little kids_ , but somehow you got me into trouble anyway.”

“What are friends for?”

Sylvain slings his arm around Dimitri’s shoulders. They’re broad, but not quite as broad as his clothing makes them seem. He’s warm, solid, and he smells nice. Dimitri is ever-so-slightly taller than Sylvain, but when he turns his head he seems a lot smaller. Shy, just a little, even after all the time they’ve known each other.

Sylvain can’t help but give him a shake. Squeezing Dimitri’s shoulder a bit too tight, but – what can he say? He’s fond of the guy. His bad mood from earlier in the evening is all but forgotten. Here with Dimitri, he can’t help but smile.

“I suppose we’d better go back to the palace,” Dimitri says. Regretfully, Sylvain thinks.

Now the laughter has passed, it’s quiet. Not just the night, but the energy between them. It's warm, comfortable, and Sylvain doesn’t have a name for it. Perhaps it's just proximity to Dimitri, which is whiplash in and of itself, because his moods change with the tides. And this time, Sylvain is swept along for the ride. From excitement to annoyance to hilarity and now... this. It’s strange, because Sylvain can’t usually stand idleness. He can’t stand the quiet and silence of the night, can't stand stillness, but somehow he doesn’t want this moment to end.

“Not yet,” he says. “Let’s look at the stars. Do you still know all the constellations?”

Dimitri was little when he went through a stargazing phase. Sylvain used to tease him about it, but he’d still sit with him and ask, constellation by constellation, what they were called. Throwing in rude name suggestions of his own periodically, because such is the way of little boys, but still listening.

Dimitri’s cheeks pink. “You remember that, do you? You were very kind in humouring me.”

“What are friends for,” Sylvain repeats.

He loses track of how long they spend looking at the stars. Lying side by side in the grass, Dimitri pointing out the constellations he remembers. Making up their own names for the ones he doesn't, as crass and puerile as when they were little, because as it turns out Sylvain hasn’t grown up much. But it’s fun. Not the way Sylvain intended to spend his night, but strangely, more memorable. Hearing Dimitri's quiet laughter whenever Sylvain says something particularly off-colour, hearing the sound of his breath.

And by the Goddess, Dimitri is handsome in the moonlight. It makes his hair, already a pale blond, look almost silver. In the busy, noisy pub he seemed a thousand miles away, buried beneath layers of formality and responsibility, but here he’s just… himself. He looks at Sylvain with that blue eye of his, and Sylvain _knows_ how dangerous Dimitri can be – knows his strength, his power, his iron will – but here Dimitri’s strangely… vulnerable. Here his layers are stripped away, and he’s somehow both more fragile and more powerful by equal measure, and Sylvain can’t stop looking at him.

Sylvain's only human. Swayed by beauty as easily as anyone else. It doesn't mean anything, because - much to Ingrid's dismay- Sylvain isn't exactly known for restraint when it comes to matters of the flesh. He finds people attractive. Not usually people like Dimitri, to be fair, but Sylvain lives for these moments. Moments in time that are heady and all-consuming, and he knows the feeling will be gone by morning, but he'll let himself ride it out while it's here.

Dimitri has a strange draw about him. The kind of draw that sucks people in. Even Sylvain’s not immune, and he’s known Dimitri since they were both so small. Dimitri’s not Sylvain’s type, both too much and too little all at once, but Sylvain understands. Lets himself look, even though it doesn’t mean anything, because of this moment. This quiet, still moment, that Sylvain has never known before and probably never will again. A moment that exists only under Dimitri's spell.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for staying,” Dimitri says. Low, and Sylvain is close enough he can feel the rumble of it in Dimitri’s chest. His expression is serious, and Sylvain knows what he’s really saying.

Dimitri never thanked him for staying loyal to him during the war. For standing by him, when everything went horribly wrong. For remaining afterwards, for believing Dimitri could atone for the things he had done.

Sylvain doesn’t like to think about the war. Cuts Dimitri off before he can say any more.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for all of us.”

Dimitri is quiet. Just looking at him, and this time it’s Sylvain’s turn to turn his head away, his heart beating too fast.

“You are a good man, Sylvain.” Dimitri pauses. Says, a smile clear in his voice, “Deep down.”

Sylvain nudges him with his elbow. “What, you got jokes now? Never thought you had it in you.”

“I am learning,” Dimitri says, as serious and sincere as ever. Unable to be casual about anything, not even joking around.

Dimitri’s a lot, sometimes. Not even Sylvain knows what to say to that.

\- - -

That one night of star-gazing seems to have knocked something loose in his royal Majesty. For Sylvain everything goes back to normal - the spell is broken, Dimitri is endearing and exasperating and decidedly not his type, and he gets on with his life. He falls in love, falls out of it, dumps and gets dumped. He works, and socialises, and nothing's changed. But when he seeks Dimitri out for a bit of fun, their next little adventures end up even more explosively ridiculous than the first ones.

They break furniture. They get lost. They end up drunk in the lake again, to Dedue and Ingrid’s mutual disapproval. They damage a priceless artefact when they’re throwing things off the roof for a laugh and accidentally put a hole in a ceiling far below.

All of these incidents are at Sylvain’s instigation. When it's just the two of them, Dimitri is open and goofy and hilarious. A good guy and a great friend, rising to every stupid challenge Sylvain puts before him.

In company, though, he's as priggish and uptight as ever.

They’re at a formal luncheon. A stuffy affair with too much cutlery and the hoity-toitiest of foods. There are delicacies from all over the continent – none of Faerghus’ traditional bland fare, but rare birds and fruits and things Sylvain has never even _seen_ before, and he spends a lot of time out to dinner. He’s an experimental diner, so he tries a bit of anything that looks interesting, but he can see Ingrid’s confused face further down the table. Watches her picking at some sort of seafood, trying to figure out how she’s meant to eat it, and has to bite down a laugh.

Ingrid loves food. Loves it in large quantities, loves it hearty, and loves getting it into her mouth as quickly as possible. Watching her struggle with a tiny shell is an unexpected bit of entertainment for a very boring afternoon.

And it really is boring. Rather than sitting down the fun end, which is Sylvain’s usual style, he’s right up beside the king himself. Usually Felix sits here, but Lady Pria is near Sylvain’s usual spot, and it seemed prudent to steer clear of her after their… misunderstanding. Felix was happy to trade seats if it meant he could be closer to Annette.

Sylvain can see him now, leaning across the table as Annette chatters on, with _that look_ on his face. The dopey one that he’s certain Felix is entirely unaware he’s making. Sylvain hasn’t mentioned it to Felix yet – he’s saving it for a special occasion, and also one where he has a clear line of exit.

“I wonder,” Dimitri says apropos of nothing.

He hasn’t spoken much during the whole meal. Eats slowly and carefully, occasionally chiming in to the table’s conversations, but only when there’s something meaningful to be said. Something weighty, and boring, and very serious indeed.

Sylvain likes Dimitri, but _King_ Dimitri is a different beast. He hasn’t so much as cracked a smile in the last hour, and Sylvain’s given up trying. He gets it, he does – everything Dimitri says can be twisted against him, everyone around him is looking for a chink in his armour. And unlike Sylvain, Dimitri has a reputation to maintain.

Sylvain is a well-known scoundrel, so he’s currently sprawled out in his chair, tossing grapes into his mouth with varying degrees of success. He’s bored, and Sylvain loathes being bored. While others have grown grim since the war, Sylvain has grown impatient. Can’t sit idle, even for a moment.

“Mm?” he says in response to Dimitri, then throws a grape high in the air. Catches it, and a young woman nearby gasps appreciatively. He winks at her and she flushes a pretty pink.

Down the table, Lady Pria’s hissed conversation with her neighbours grows in volume. Loud enough now that Sylvain can hear the words _cheat_ and _philanderer_ and _layabout_. It’s been well over a month, and she’s still furious.

Dimitri leans in close to Sylvain, and Sylvain instinctively follows suit. When the king wants a private word, he gets one. And Dimitri’s at his kingliest today. He’s dressed in his stuffiest finery, high collar, heavy layers, white gloves. No hint of his crooked teeth or scarred chest or over-the-top competitiveness over something stupid. He’s regal, restrained, sophisticated.

“Do you think you could take the top off a wine bottle with a sword?” he murmurs in Sylvain’s ear.

Sylvain misses his next grape. It lands somewhere on the floor behind him as he blinks at Dimitri, jarred by the dissonance of that sentence coming out of the royal mouth. He takes a closer look, and Dimitri’s face is as composed and unreachable as ever, but now Sylvain is looking for it he sees humour twinkling in that blue, blue eye.

“With a sword?” Sylvain murmurs back. Whispers the words into Dimitri’s ear, careful not to be overheard. Breathes in the smell of Dimitri’s cologne, Dimitri’s fair hair brushing against his nose. “Theoretically possible. Why do you ask?”

“I heard a story about it. Someone took the very top off a bottle without spilling a drop or getting glass inside the wine itself.”

Sylvain ponders this. “Sounds like a challenge to me.”

Two hours later, Dimitri’s abandoned his royal cloak and overcoat. His face is tensed with concentration as he palms the sword in his hands. Test swings it a few times, judging the angle.

“Do it!” Sylvain yells from the other side of the courtyard, and Dimitri swings.

The bottle _shatters_. Glass flies everywhere as Dimitri’s overwhelming strength once again comes out to play. Red wine sprays across the courtyard, spattering Dimitri’s white gloves too.

“Too strong,” he calls back to Sylvain. He’s starting to smile now. He’s got that energy about him that screams _excitement_ , a bounce to his walk as he goes to get the next bottle.

“Go again,” Sylvain calls back. He feels like bouncing himself. Seeing Dimitri like this almost makes that tedious lunch worth it. “Come on, get your eye in,” he coaches, because apparently Dimitri’s excessive commitment is contagious. “You’ve got this. Steady your hand, swing nice and clean.”

The second shatters as well. And the third, though the third bottle breaks into great big chunks of glass rather than exploding into miniscule pieces.

“Almost!” Sylvain crows, pumping his fist in the air.

“You try,” Dimitri says. “Perhaps we need a different method?”

“Hm,” Sylvain says, taking the sword from Dimitri’s hand. He judges the angle of the bottle, the curve of it, the protruding rim at the top. If he could just take the very _top_ off, that seems the likeliest way to keep the rest of the bottle intact. He picks the bottle up, holds it, so as to maintain better control over where the blow lands.

It’s a good idea in theory. This time the bottle doesn’t smash, but that’s only because Sylvain fumbles and drops it part-way through, barely missing taking his fingers off in the process. Dimitri takes one look at Sylvain’s stunned face and starts laughing, doubling over and slapping at his thigh.

Sylvain is smiling, in spite of himself. The infectious kind of grin he can’t seem to wipe off his face. “You can shut up, your _Majesty_ , you did no better.”

“It is – I – your _face_ _-_ ” Dimitri attempts an impression of it, but he’s laughing too hard to maintain it.

In that moment, grabbing Dimitri in a headlock seems like the obvious response to being laughed at. Sylvain lunges for him, grinding his knuckles into Dimitri’s fair head. Dimitri yelps with surprise, fending Sylvain off, but when he straightens up the look on his face is _playful_.

And then Sylvain can’t see Dimitri’s face anymore because Dimitri goes in for revenge, and once again Sylvain is rudely reminded of how overwhelming Dimitri’s strength is. He flails and kicks and struggles, but he can’t do anything to dislodge Dimitri’s arm from around his neck. And Dimitri is still laughing, the absolute dastard. _Shaking_ with laughter while Sylvain flops about like a fish.

“Do you yield?” Dimitri says.

If this were a sparring match, Sylvain would yield without question or embarrassment. If they were training, he would happily concede and go about his merry way.

This isn’t training. This is, objectively speaking, two grown men with weighty responsibilities horsing around like grubby little boys. But Sylvain is pinned to Dimitri’s side, warm and strong and _so close_ , and not so very long ago Sylvain couldn’t have imagined being so close to Dimitri. Couldn’t have imagined wanting to be.

Sylvain is having fun. He doesn’t want this to end, not yet.

Without warning he plunges his fingers into Dimitri’s side, where he knows for a fact Dimitri is the most ticklish. He used to torment him with it as a boy, and he’s not above using the same strategy now. Dimitri tries to hold out, tries to reposition himself so Sylvain can’t reach, but Sylvain is relentless. It’s not the most dignified of tactics, but it works.

Dimitri releases him and somehow they end up on the ground, struggling and rolling around, locked in a tangle of limbs as the fight continues. Neither willing to concede just yet, Dimitri’s strength pitched against Sylvain’s cunning. Sylvain fights dirty, using his entire bodyweight to pin Dimitri down as best he can, trying to force the strongest man on the continent to yield to him.

Sylvain can win this. He can _win_.

“ _What_ are you doing?”

They both freeze. A full-bodied, wide-eyed freeze.

Then they turn their heads as one to look at the courtyard entrance. Felix is standing there, arms folded across his chest and a tic in his jaw.

“Uh,” Dimitri says. Then he looks back up at Sylvain and his cheeks go red. He looks startled, stunned. _Nervous_ all of a sudden.

Right, Sylvain is still on top of him. They’re both breathing hard, and Sylvain has Dimitri pinned to the ground.

Sylvain clambers off, realising far too late how _dirty_ the courtyard is. It wouldn’t matter so much if they hadn’t sprayed wine everywhere, but there’s a mixture of dirt and red wine and – yes, those are fragments of shattered glass they narrowly missed rolling around in.

Gross. Also hilarious, because Dimitri couldn’t look any further from regal right now.

“Afternoon, Felix. Nice day we’re having,” Sylvain says.

Felix’s glare sharpens. “You two are – I don’t even want to know,” he says, disgust clear in his voice. “You’re _late_ , Dimitri.”

“I – of course. Forgive me, I will… I will come now,” Dimitri stammers. Looking decidedly flustered, scrubbing at his shirt as though hoping to get the stains out. It’s a futile effort.

“Not looking like that you won’t,” Felix snaps. “Now, explain – what in the Goddess’ name were you morons _doing_ here?”

Dimitri looks at Sylvain. He’s ringing his hands like a matron, and Sylvain takes pity on him.

“We were trying to get the top of a wine bottle off with a sword,” he announces without a hint of shame or compunction.

Felix’s eyebrow twitches. “ _Why_?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Felix’s nostrils flare. Judging by the look on his face Sylvain’s going to get an earful later. Felix isn’t as bad as Ingrid, but he’s not known for his sense of humour any more than she is.

“You’re an idiot,” Felix snaps. Turns his attention back to Dimitri, “What are you standing around for? Go and change.”

“O-of course, Felix. My apologies,” Dimitri says. But he shoots Sylvain a grateful look, utterly sincere, and it almost makes Felix’s incoming lecture worth it.

Sylvain winks back, and Dimitri rewards him with a flash of a smile before he hurries off. For the ruler of the entire continent, he’s easily chastised.

Felix waits until Dimitri is out of earshot. Turns back to Sylvain, his expression dark.

“What do you think you’re playing at?”

Sylvain blinks. Not the opening he was expecting. “Just having a bit of fun, that’s all.”

“Fun? Is that what you call it?” Felix is angry. Really, genuinely angry. Not about the broken glass or wine or making Dimitri late, but at _Sylvain_.

Sylvain takes a moment. Thinks quick. Felix definitely came across them in a compromising position, but surely he doesn't think -

"Come on, Felix. You know me. We were just messing about."

Felix's jaw clenches. "Unfortunately I _do_ know you. And I don't know what you think you're doing, messing about with him, but I -" He's interrupted by the chiming of a bell in the distance. Felix jerks. Swears. “I don’t have time for this now. But I’ll deal with _you_ later.”

It’s very much a threat. Sylvain smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. “Sounds fun.”

Felix bares his teeth at him and strides off. Angrier with Sylvain than he's been in a long time, which is saying something. Suspicious of him, and protective of Dimitri, which is new. Felix is one of Sylvain's best friends, but he's angry like he doesn't trust Sylvain's intentions.

Sylvain's not thinking about that, or any of its implications. He gets changed and goes out for a night on the town, putting it decidedly out of his mind. Filling it instead with rowdy company and easy women and free-flowing booze, and pushing anything else deep, deep down.

One thing's certain. He's definitely steering clear of Felix for a while.


End file.
